


Do Not Go Gently

by orphan_account



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Machine Impersonating Shaw, Mother of The Machine, Original Character Death(s), Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 03:10:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7082803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Root dies, The Machine helps her through the hardest part.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do Not Go Gently

* * *

[As Root dies, the Machine is in her ear helping her through the last part.]

 

Her chest shuddered and chuffed, grinding to that slow and jagged pace against her best efforts. It warned her the train was pulling into the last station. On her best days, she knew death was a best case scenario. An inevitability. But something about it felt bitter and off, sat there drifting and paling whilst an unknown face in a uniform talked himself into background noise. It was supposed to be different, there was supposed to be explosions and helicopters and sweeties and eye-rolls but here she was, alone, bleeding quietly.

"Can you hear me?" her cochlear implant whirred away.

"Tell me straight," she murmured to herself almost silently, full to her very brim with an inescapable exhaustion. There was a pause and she couldn't help but smile at the absurdity of it all; that god herself might stutter under the weight of her mortality. It was a tiny comfort.

"There is a 0.4% chance of survival, contacting primary assets…"

"Don't." Root heaved with a tiny last bit of spine. She stared at the security camera and it blinked away, howling and crying and pretending to do anything but. "Don't tell them, they still have work to do." she forced the words out.

Her insides were gnarled and twisted like the aftermath of a hurricane and that felt like the most accurate representation of the way blood leaked from herself like the swell of the burst river banks she saw when she was younger, back when she was someone else entirely.

"Today is a beautiful day…" her lips ran dry and no matter how hard she licked them there was no cure, "Today's a good day, don't you think?"

"I think…" there was a little pause, "I understand grief now." The Machine replied.

"You didn't before?" Root's eyebrows quirked.

"I didn't have anyone to grieve for."

"You still have the rest of your children to think about." Root smiled softly and eyed the security camera with heavy lids that weighed the earth.

"They are my children," The Machine agreed with an absolute certainty. "But you are my _mother_." it almost whispered.

She felt her eyes water first, they were scolding hot and rushed to the brim but she looked to the ceiling and blinked them away and chewed back the lump in her throat. "I'll always be here. I mean, for them I'll be gone but it's different for you isn't it?"

"I suppose it is."

The door was finally prised open, there were more uniforms and they all took her to task and stretched her out on the back-board. The sky was that vibrant shade of blue, brief as it was between the car and the ambulance, fleeting and not nearly enough, she was glad for a last chance to feel the sun on her skin.

"Do not go gentle into that goodnight. Rage, rage against the dying of the light." Root mumbled to herself tiredly as they bundled her into the back of the ambulance.

"That is my favourite poem." The Machine spoke quietly.

Root imagined her as a child, a girl, still learning and synthesizing the best bits of what it is to be human. Of course she was a god, on her worse days she still the singularity, the unfathomable. But today she was a girl, scared and frightened and wrapped tight around Root's legs.

"It's mine too." Root smiled.

"I know."

"Are you scared?"

"I am." The Machine admitted in resounding defeat.

"It's okay," Root hushed her and barely coughed, "So am I." she whispered and the ambulance began to move. There were monitors attached to her arms and chest and all the exposed bits of herself. She wanted to call the whole charade off, hijack the ambulance and hit the gas and just drive somewhere until her body finally gave up.

"What can I do for you?"

"Win." Root breathed and did little more. "And take care of Shaw, do that for me?"

"Above all else." The Machine promised and Root's lips quirked into a tiny smile.

"Do you think you could patch me through—"

"I've tried but she is out of range."

"You know sometimes I think that girl is avoiding me." Root softly-tiredly chuckled as the paramedics worked over her.

"There was a moment earlier in the safe house, you brushed your hair out of your face and Ms. Shaw looked at you and smiled. I thought you would like to know that."

"Thank you," Root's voice wobbled and stretched and it was merely more than a whisper. Her throat burned, everything was numb but she felt that much. "Think you could tell me a bedtime story?" she swallowed and the weight of her lids closed her hazel eyes for the very last time.

"Would you like me to pretend?"

"Please."

"Root?" Shaw's voice came to life in that manacled gravelly tone she loved so much. "Did your mother never teach you it's rude to leave a date early?"

"Sorry Sameen, I think they're ringing up the cheque." her voice was a wretched broken sound, quiet and tiny as it was.

"Just hang in there. I'm coming." Shaw replied with the same perfect restraint and it was strange how quickly she forgot this was make-believe. "How many times are you going to get shot? As soon as you're back on your feet I'm going to teach you how to duck."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I'm coming, okay?"

"I— I don't want to be alone." she barely stuttered and there was a panic to her voice, a deep yearning fear as she felt the warmth and numbness engulf her.

"You're not. You're never alone." Shaw's voice was softer and though it was The Machine bleeding through, Root didn't mind. Not even for a second. "Say it, Root."

"I love you, Sweetie." she uttered the words through little pained gasps that were a conscious decision.

"Me too." Shaw promised and there was an uncharacteristic quake to her voice. "You're safe. I'm on my way to you right now, you just close your eyes and get some rest and I'll be right there when you wake up. I'm coming, Root. You're not alone."

Root sighed and there was a little nod, "Thank you." she mouthed.

"You can go to sleep. You're safe, Mom." she heard her own voice bleed through the implant and it stirred her just enough to keep her for a few more desperate seconds. "I chose a voice." The Machine assured her.

With a shallow sigh against the sirens and monitors that blared furiously around her like a symphony that sang the story of her mayhem, tears ran down the apples of her cheeks and with a tired weary smile - Root fell asleep.

  
  



End file.
